“Charge you with blundering?” she echoed; and the inflection of the pronoun might have flattered him had he not reflected that it was impossible she could have understood his allusion. And now she bethought her that she had not thanked him—and the debt was a heavy one. He had come to her aid in an hour when hope seemed dead. He had come single-handed—save for his man Rabecque; and in a manner that was worthy of being made the subject of an epic, he had carried her out of Condillac, away from the terrible Dowager and her cut-throats. The thought of them sent a shiver through her.
“Do you feel the cold?” he asked concernedly; and that the wind might cut her less, he slackened speed.
“No, no,” she cried, her alarm waking again at the thought of the folk of Condillac. “Make haste! Go on, go on! Mon Dieu! if they should overtake us!”
He looked over his shoulder. The road ran straight for over a half-mile behind them, and not a living thing showed upon it.
“You need have no alarm,” he smiled. “We are not pursued. They must have realized the futility of attempting to overtake us. Courage, mademoiselle. We shall be in Grenoble presently, and once there, you will have nothing more to fear.”
“You are sure of that?” she asked, and there was doubt in her voice.
He smiled reassuringly again. “The Lord Seneschal shall supply us with an escort,” he promised confidently.
“Still,” she said, “we shall not stay there, I hope, monsieur.”
“No longer than may be necessary to procure a coach for you.”
“I am glad of that,” said she. “I shall know no peace until Grenoble is a good ten leagues behind us. The Marquise and her son are too powerful there.”